


Sweet Disposition

by tylerfucklin (orphan_account)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Frottage, Human Derek Hale, M/M, Underage Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-05-22
Packaged: 2017-12-12 15:13:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812981
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/tylerfucklin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek Hale's stint of community service in a mentoring program could very well land him in bigger trouble than where he started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sweet Disposition

Kate broke up with him on a Wednesday at three in the afternoon through a text message stating, ‘ _I changed the locks. Your clothes are in a trash bag in front of the door. It was nice while it lasted._ ’.

She was everything Derek had ever thought he’d need in a significant other, fire and passion all curled up into a beautiful body with a wicked mouth and a sharper smile. She was also, apparently, completely unattached to Derek after a two-year relationship.

Derek spent three weeks trying to win her back, and six months getting over her.

Laura died on a Friday at five in the morning during month seven of ‘getting over Kate’. She’d been brain dead since two, but Derek had held out hope for three hours before finally letting the doctors pull the plug. His only comfort had been knowing that the other driver--the one who had run the light-- had died upon impact. 

It wasn’t until the real shock had worn off that Derek bothered to go through Laura’s things. It hurt beyond measure to touch and see the objects she’d once cherished, only to know that these items would never be loved by her again. Laura would keep anything--from old school notes, to blurry photos taken with a disposable camera of Derek hiding his face behind his hands. He’d never liked it when Laura would take his picture, but now he wished he’d let her. Maybe if he’d been a better brother, she’d still be alive.

Kate and Laura had never really gotten along; Laura was too stubborn and Kate too overbearing for them to really stay in the same room without clashing. On their second anniversary, Laura had begrudgingly accepted Kate on the sheer principle that Derek was head over heels in love with her. She’d given Kate an old necklace that had been a gift from her first love, given Kate a piece of her that she held dearly.

Sitting in the middle of Laura’s room, surrounded by boxes of their past, Derek realized he’d never gotten Laura’s necklace back. He’d been so focused on his own problems that it never crossed his mind to retrieve the one item of Laura’s that Kate had in her possession.

With Laura gone, Derek suddenly needed that necklace back more than anything in the world.

He tried calling Kate, tried emailing her and even going by her apartment and knocking on the door. He’d almost forgotten how cleanly she’d cut him from her life until he tried to get back into it again. The longer it took, the more desperate Derek felt knowing that this necklace held so many memories of his sister that he could never get back.

The first beer was meant to relax him, and the second to give him the courage needed to try and go to Kate’s apartment for the fourth time that week. Somehow, two became three became five, until Derek found himself driving like an idiot over to Kate’s with the intention of getting the necklace back--come hell or high water.

In theory, it had been a good idea. In action, Derek had broken the window he’d tried to jimmy open, and then knocked over the television and found himself at the other end of a shotgun held by Chris Argent.

One night in jail and a handful of dropped charges later, Derek wished desperately that he’d never tried to get that necklace back in the first place. Kate was happy to play the part of the ‘concerned ex’, waxing poetic about Derek struggling with loss and how the only treatment he really needed was grief counseling and to integrate himself back into the world again. Derek had no idea how she’d managed it, but Kate had coerced the judge into agreeing to giving Derek six months of community service.

Alan Deaton was the name of Derek’s counselor. He spoke mostly in vague, neutral tones that left Derek feeling more agitated and confused at the end of their sessions than he was at the beginning. He coached Derek through ridiculous meditation techniques, going so far as to suggest Derek join a mentor program for his community service.

Of course, when Derek protested, all Deaton had to do was remind him that jail time wasn’t something an aspiring pediatrician wanted to have on their resume.

Which was why Derek was sitting in the waiting room of a small building two blocks from City Hall with a piece of paper clutched in his hands and a frown on his face. He’d taken a plethora of drug tests and psychological surveys before they’d even assigned him a kid to look after. The paper in his hands gave him a basic synopsis of the child--some hard to pronounce name that sounded like it came straight from a foreign film. Derek wouldn’t be surprised if this kid needed a mentor because he couldn’t speak English well enough to keep from being targeted by bullies or something.

“Mr. Hale?” A petite woman with dark hair and a smile that bordered on expressionless came into the waiting room, gesturing for Derek to follow. “My name is Ms. Morrell. I’m Stiles’ caseworker. If you come with me, I’ll take you to meet him.”

Derek stood, fumbling with the paper and trying to read the name on it as he followed the woman back through a long hallway and into a large room filled with various toys and interactive games. “I wasn’t assigned to Stiles, I was assigned to--”

“That’s me.” In the corner of the room sat a teenage boy who looked like he was just starting to lose the baby fat in his cheeks. His hair was short, cut close to the scalp, and his entire posture screamed ‘I’m pretending not to care’. He didn’t even bother looking up at Derek, instead tapping away to some game on his cell phone as he muttered, “it’s not like you could say my name, anyway.”

All Derek’s assumptions about this kid--Stiles--went right out the window. He frowned, folding the paper in his hands and stuffing it into his jacket pocket. “Fine then. Stiles.”

Stiles peered up at him from his phone, the corner of his lip twitching in a mocking smile. “Good boy.”

Derek felt his eye twitch, mimicking Stiles’ grin with one of his own and making sure to show as many teeth as possible. Ms. Morell pursed her lips, eyebrows bobbing as she grinned and nodded to both Derek and Stiles. “I’ll let you two get to know one another for a little bit. I’ll be back in a half hour and we can set up some times for the both of you to get some hours in together.”

Stiles shrugged, “works for me.”

Ms. Morell gave Derek one last encouraging smile before she slipped out of the room and left the two of them alone.

Figuring it would be easier just to get this over with, Derek nodded at Stiles in greeting. “I’m Der--”

“Derek Hale, age 24, doing community service after a dropped B&E charge from your worried yet estranged ex girlfriend. Just got your masters degree for something--probably liberal arts or something, you don’t look like you’re the studying kind of guy--”

“Pediatrics,” Derek interrupted, feeling himself grow angrier by the second. Stiles looked pleasantly surprised for a split second before he wiped the expression from his face with a nonchalant shrug.

“Well, I can’t learn everything from the police file, now can I?”

It wasn’t often that Derek met a person he wanted to strangle within the first five minutes of meeting them. This was one of those exceptions, especially when Stiles grinned smugly at the startled look on Derek’s face that came from finding out that the kid had read his police records.

“So yeah, guess they didn’t tell you my dad’s the sheriff. That’s gotta suck for you--being a felon or whatever.”

“Seriously?” Derek snapped, temple throbbing. Stiles shrugged.

“Yeah, anyway. I don’t really want to have a babysitter, so instead, for our little ‘hang outs’,” Stiles paused just to make a quotation around the words, “you can just drop me off at my friend’s house and be on your merry way for two or three hours and we’ll both say we did something productive. How’s that sound, big guy?”

“Sounds like you think you’re in charge,” Derek pointed out, leaning up against the wall. Stiles scoffed, waving a hand around.

“Actually, yeah, I am. You know why? Because all I gotta do is say one word to my dad and _bam_ , you’re outta this place and behind bars.”

It didn’t take a genius to realize this was probably the third or fourth time Stiles had been paired up with a mentor. Why on earth they thought it was a good idea to stick him with Derek, he hadn’t a clue.

Stiles waited a beat, and then returned to playing on his phone. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Anyway. You can eat with us and stuff, but if we go somewhere to hang, try not to hover like a total creep, okay? You’re not here because you want to be, and neither am I...so why make it more difficult than it has to be?”

From what Derek was hearing, Stiles was one of those kids who took the privileges they had and abused it--acting like he was better just because he had connections with law enforcement. Derek hated those kinds of kids; had been bullied by similar types in high school, and wouldn’t stand to let some fifteen year old brat boss him around like he was a sophomore all over again.

When Derek took a seat in the chair next to him, Stiles trailed off slowly, eyes narrowing suspiciously. Derek crossed his arms, tensing his shoulders just enough to look like he was filling more space than he really was, and leaned in close so that Stiles was watching his every movement.

“No.”

Stiles gaped, blinking rapidly and then intelligently blurting, “bwuh? You _did_ hear me, didn’t you? All I have to do is say ‘hey dad, Derek hit me’ and your career is ruined.”

“Yeah,” Derek leaned forward, putting a hand on the table, “and how are you gonna prove it? Gonna punch yourself in the face? When your dad asks why a man studying to be a child doctor--a man who has spent the past six years of his life getting a degree specifically designed to help kids like you-- hit you, what’s your excuse going to be? ‘I don’t know daddy, he was just so angry.’?”

Stiles, for all his cockiness and nonchalant attitude, floundered in the face of being challenged. It only helped to fuel that smug feeling inside of Derek that he could, at the very least, make sure this kid knew better than to treat Derek like any of his past mentors. “Just because everyone else has let you scare them into doing what you say, doesn’t mean I will.”

Derek leaned back as Stiles took a second to process this. It was almost exhilarating to finally be in control of something for the first time since Laura’s death--even if that something was a teenage brat with an attitude problem. “You seem to forget you’re here for as much of a reason as I am. Maybe it’s because your dad is tired of you using his job as an excuse to get away with stupid shit.”

“Fuck you,” Stiles spat, hands curling into fists and his cheeks flushing red. “You don’t know shit about me or my dad.”

“Yeah and you don’t know anything about me other than some words on a piece of paper.” Derek shot back, knowing at that exact moment that they were back on even ground.

Silenced for the first time since Derek had walked in the door, Stiles sagged against his chair and chewed on his bottom lip. He took a second, and then pouted before huffing and muttering, “touche,” like he’d just admitted defeat.

Grinning, Derek uncrossed his arms and reached out. “Let’s try this again. I’m Derek.”

Stiles took his hand, shaking it. “Call me Stiles.”

\---

It didn’t take long to realize that most of Stiles’ standoffish behavior was more of a front than anything. All of his words and actions boiled down to the fact that he was attention-starved. Years of psychology classes had given Derek enough of an eye to notice that Stiles lived for people’s attention, that he would do anything in his power to get others to notice or even acknowledge him.

Behind closed doors, when the two of them would sit and watch a movie or play video games, Stiles’ humor was far more dry and his physical gestures tighter and more precise. Even then, Stiles wasn’t making terminator jokes about Derek’s leather jacket or trying to the best of his ability to piss Derek off, he was surprisingly quiet--sometimes lost in thought.It was like being around two different people, and it made Derek want desperately to find out _why_ Stiles was like that.

At the same time, he knew it wasn’t really his place to pry. Stiles was still young, and Derek knew that he would be the light of someone’s life in a few years when he figured himself out and stopped trying to pretend for others. Until then, he was stuck with Derek and a list of ‘suggested places’ from the community center that they could go to for their required hours.

“Seriously? The zoo?” Stiles dropped his gameboy onto his lap, staring at Derek with a disbelieving gape. “You’re kidding, right?”

“What? You’re like, thirteen, right?” Derek asked, enjoying the way Stiles bristled, “Kids your age love watching monkeys hump and laughing like it’s prime time comedy.”

Stiles fiddled with his gameboy, shutting it off and scowling. “I’m fifteen, wow, you suck. Also: kids who laugh at humping monkeys are laughing because they’re uncomfortable and laughing it off makes them look cool. Like seriously. Watching anything hump stuff is weird. Did you know monkeys have recreational sex?”

Pulling out his car keys, Derek palmed the back of Stiles’ head when he stood up, giving him a gentle shove towards the door to get him walking. “That’s fascinating,” he said dryly. Stiles snorted, swatting Derek’s hand and jogging across the parking lot towards the camaro. He turned on his heel, walking backwards to face Derek.

“It’s a step up from dolphin gang-rapes,” he pointed out.

Derek rounded to the driver’s side of the camaro. “How much time do you spend on the internet, exactly?”

“Hey!” Stiles protested, opening his door after Derek unlocked it and hopping into the passenger seat. “Hate to break it to you, buddy, but you’re taking me to the zoo. You’re basically _asking_ for me to tell you all this stuff.”

“Really?” Derek asked, mocking interest. “So if I ask you to stop talking, you will?”

“Har har,” Stiles sneered, but turned to fiddle with the radio instead of starting an argument or waxing poetic about his fragile teenage psyche. 

He was mostly quiet for the majority of the ride, chattiness gone like the energy for it had run dry. They bickered over the radio for a little while, slap-fighting for control of the console, but ended up settling on a classic rock station that wasn’t so old that Stiles didn’t recognize most of the songs they played.

The zoo wasn’t particularly crowded for the afternoon. It was part of why Derek had gotten the tickets for the middle of the week and not a weekend. Stiles was peering around at all the stands by the entrance, eyes zeroing in on a small vendor stuffed full with maps, sunglasses, hats, fans, and sunscreen.

“Hey,” Stiles blindly reached out, grabbing the sleeve of Derek’s shirt to get his attention. “Buy me sunscreen.”

Derek stared, brows pinching in a frown. “I’m not your sugar daddy.”

Dropping his hand, Stiles made a dramatic sound in the back of his throat and then grinned. “Sorry dude, but I burn like a peach. Not all of us have flawless skin like you. I didn’t exactly save up for a trip to the zoo--you kind of came out of nowhere with this.”

Stiles did have fair skin, his complexion just shy of too-pale. It made the tiny moles dotting his cheeks and neck stand out in the sun. Derek momentarily wondered how Stiles would grow out of the last bit of baby fat on his cheeks and stomach, limbs still awkward as he grew into his body. He’d probably get taller, maybe ending up Derek’s height in a few years, and all of the clumsiness he had would transform into a learned grace that came from years of stumbling over himself.

There was no doubt that Stiles would be a total heartbreaker in just a handful of years.

Derek pulled $10 out of his wallet, shoving it at Stiles before he could let his mind wander into places that were highly inappropriate for a man his age. Stiles grinned, saluting and then jogging over to the stand to buy a map and a tube of sun lotion.

When he came back, he was already dumping some of the lotion onto his hand to rub it over his nose and cheeks. “Okay, lets go, Jeeves. To the otters!” Stiles shoved the map at Derek’s chest, wagging his eyebrows like Derek should know that meant to look up where the otters were.

They meandered through half of the exhibits, pausing every now and then so Stiles could pester Derek into taking his picture to post online. Apparently it had become a staple in teenage life to photograph all instances of leaving the house and post the images online. Stiles even went so far as to steal one shot of Derek chugging a bottle of water to add to his collection.

Derek bought them lunch outside the wolf exhibit and they sat down on a bench to eat and watch some of the pack playing and cuddling in the enclosure. Stiles had one hand on his turkey leg, the other googling wolves on his phone and reading off the information in a hoakey british accent like he was on some nature channel. He grew bored of it after a while, sighing and slumping back against the bench while the alpha male and female licked at one another’s faces and the rest of the pack played about.

“Sometimes I think it would be easier if I was a wolf or something,” Stiles murmured softly. Derek glanced down at him, using a napkin to wipe at his mouth and then tossing some fries into his mouth.

“Why? So you could sleep under the stars?”

Stiles glanced up at Derek, evidently surprised he didn’t use the chance to make a jab at Stiles. Shrugging once, he stared down at his paper basket of food, picking at some meat from his turkey leg and nibbling it. “No, not that... it’s just... Pack. Family. It-- It’s so fundamental to them. I think humans forget that.”

Without anything to say as a response, Derek fell silent. He missed his family dearly; his mom and dad, Laura. They were all taken from him in one way or another, leaving him alone with no support system and an empty house. Sometimes he felt homesick, longing for his family to a point where it was hard to get out of bed sometimes.

“Some humans don’t forget,” he murmured, “some just lose their pack.”

Stiles stiffened, glancing up at Derek with a thoughtful stare. He pursed his lips, nodding a little. “Yeah...”

\---

Stiles was like two people wrapped up in one, fighting for dominance. There were days when he was quiet and melancholy, and days where he was loud and fast-talking with no regard for Derek’s privacy. Sometimes he got angry at Derek and everyone else for no reason, and other days it was like he was watching his every word to make sure nothing he said was offensive or upsetting.

Most of the time they spent together involved events like baseball games, going to the park, or seeing a matinee and eating lunch together like two brothers might do. A darker, uninhibited part of Derek couldn’t help but think about how all those things were also what couples would do, and that Stiles could use someone experienced who could appreciate him and treat him better than the simpering high school girls that wanted nothing but attention and to be showered in compliments.

Early into the second month of their arrangement, Derek snagged a set of tickets for the small theme park a few towns over. Most of the events they went to were paid for by the volunteer center, but Derek had ended up taking some out-of-pocket to cover for the full cost. Stiles, fifteen and easily excitable, had never been on a roller coaster before. His dad got motion sickness too easily and his mom had died before Stiles was big enough to go on any large rides. Hearing about the death of Stiles’ mom was like opening a connection of understanding between them. Derek missed his own mother deeply, and to know how much Stiles had lost out on as a teenager because of her early departure was enough to convince him to spend the money necessary for the theme park.

Presenting the tickets to Stiles had earned him a few minutes of skeptical staring, before Stiles realized they were legitimate and instead started flailing in excitement. It was worth it just to see his smile light up the room, joyful laughter causing a warm sensation to settle in Derek’s stomach. Stiles had practically run to the camaro, vibrating in his seat for the entire trip as he prattled on and on about which rides they’d go on and how Derek wasn’t allowed to puke on him. He even made sure to get Derek to swear up and down that he’d buy at least one ride candid of Stiles’ choice.

 

He let Stiles pick out the first ride--and, of course, Stiles picked out the biggest one in the whole theme park. 

They’re about halfway up the first drop, ride clicking and the sky getting closer and closer, when Stiles grabbed at Derek’s shirt for dear life. “I don’t want to be on this ride anymore,” he pleaded, eyes wide and terrified. Helpless to stop the ride or even do anything to change Stiles’ mind, Derek laughed.

Stiles tugged on his shirt, threatening to rip the collar from sheer force. “Derek, seriously I’m so not down for this--oh my God. We’re going to die. _I’m_ going to die!”

Out of ideas to calm Stiles, Derek threw an arm around his shoulders and tugged him into a tight sideways hug just as they reached the top of the climb. The coaster slowly edged over, freezing in place just long enough for Stiles to see the distance to the ground and let out a strangled warble before the brakes released and they plunged. 

The shriek Stiles let loose was deafening as he clawed at Derek’s shirt. Derek grabbed his hands, pulling them around so that Stiles was clinging to his stomach when they hit the first spin and loop. It wasn’t until about halfway through the ride when Stiles’ mood did a practical 180, going from terrified to exhilarated when they looped again. He kept one arm around Derek and the other up in the air, a triumphant scream escaping him like he’d just conquered an undefeatable monster. 

Derek tried to take back the arm around Stiles’ shoulders, but found himself held captive by a clammy, white-knuckled grasp. Stiles held his hand in place, even as he continued to whoop and yell through the rest of the ride. By the time the coaster pulled into the dock, Stiles was grinning like a maniac, his face flushed and his eyes so bright and happy that Derek had to practically wrench his arms back when he was overcome with the urge to hold Stiles and kiss him breathless. Derek had no idea why he would be feeling that way; it was terrifying because Stiles was _fifteen_ , and Derek was a grown-ass man.

He tried to ignore the dread settling in his gut, letting Stiles drag him through the park and even complying when he was begged to do the stupid strongman booth. The look on Stiles’ face was priceless when Derek brought the hammer down and the machine trilled out a high score with a bunch of ridiculous music and fanfare.

Derek picked out a giant wolf plush, slapping Stiles’ hand away when he tried to grab it. “This is mine. I won it.”

“Dick,” Stiles grumbled, but the malice was half-hearted. “Gimme money, I’m gonna win myself something.”

It was only out of the sheer kindness in his soul that Derek gave Stiles a $5, and not because he almost felt bad for keeping the wolf plush for himself.

Stiles made a beeline towards one of the water gun booths, worming his way between an older man and a kid no older than ten. He aimed with both eyes open and the edge of his tongue peeking out from under his teeth, filling up his balloon before any of the others could manage it. Derek didn’t realize he was smiling fondly until his cheeks started to hurt when Stiles jumped up and down and fist-pumped at his victory. He picked a floppy-necked giraffe toy with a lopsided eye.

It looked a little like Stiles, all gangly limbs and mismatched coloring. Derek chuckled, flicking the doll on the head. “You remind me of a giraffe.”

Stiles made a face, hugging the toy protectively like a father would to his child, “you’re taller than me.”

“And your point is? You’re the one who falls over himself if he runs too fast...like a baby giraffe.”

Grumbling, Stiles stuck his nose up in the air and stomped ahead of Derek. “You’re just jealous.”

Of who, Derek wasn’t so sure.

\---

Their visits settled into a routine, one where Derek could avoid that tiny part of him that wanted Stiles in ways that he shouldn’t. It was the way he smiled, the snark in his jokes, and how he always challenged Derek to come out of the armored shell he’d created for himself. Sometimes Derek forgot how young Stiles was when he would say and do things as mature as people twice his age. Other days, it was easy to remember when Stiles would throw a tantrum or pick fights over the tiniest things. The more hours they spent together, the worse it got until Stiles finally snapped one afternoon.

“I know how to hold the fucking bat, Derek,” he snarled, elbowing Derek in the gut when Derek tried to adjust his grip on the neck of the baseball bat. Derek held his hands up, stepping back and frowning.

“You wanna stop fighting me and just listen, for once?”

“Fuck you!” Stiles spat, jerking like a sudden line of tension inside of him had been broken. “I hate this crap. I hate having to hang out with you when I could be doing stuff I actually _want_ to do at home!” The bat hit the ground with a clang, rolling a few feet while Stiles began storming off of the field and towards the dugout. There was nobody at the park this early in the afternoon, which was why Derek had brought Stiles out to try and at least show him a few tricks to playing baseball.

“You gonna run away?” Derek called from the pitcher’s mound, “Running doesn’t make things better!”

“Don’t you think I know that?!” Stiles hollered, threading his fingers into the chain link fencing of the dugout and giving it a rattle. “I don’t _care!_ ”

When Stiles grabbed for his things, Derek jogged over, grabbing his back and forcing Stiles to put it down again. “You wanna stop with the temper tantrum and tell me what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Stiles protested, like his bottom lip wasn’t shaking and his shoulders weren’t heaving with the effort to keep in tears of frustration. “I just really hate baseball.”

That would have been believable, if Derek hadn’t seen the way Stiles had grinned the first time they’d gotten on the field and he’d whacked the ball all the way out into left field. Stiles had been in a bad mood ever since Derek had picked him up from the community center. The more Derek had tried to pry it out of him, the worse Stiles had gotten. He was, essentially, a bomb that had been waiting to go off.

“You sure about that?”

“No,” Stiles said miserably, slumping on the dugout bench and running his hands over his head. “I hate everything.” Stiles picked his head up, staring at Derek like maybe Derek could give him the answers he wanted. “I want my mom.”

It was a punch to the gut, not just to hear Stiles say it, but to remember that someone else was also suffering the loss of family. Sometimes he forgot that Stiles was in the program for a reason--that he was there because his mother was gone and his father was too busy as the sheriff to keep his son in check on a daily basis. Stiles was there because he was lonely and had no one to look up to.

That was something Derek understood all too well.

Sighing, Derek sat down on the bench next to Stiles, resting his elbows on his knees. “My mom died when I was sixteen,” he began, rubbing his palms together. Stiles made a noise in the back of his throat--one of surprise--but Derek kept talking. “My dad couldn’t live without her... his body just gave up after a while. It was just me and my sister after that. Laura was all I had, but she was killed by a drunk driver a few months ago.”

Stiles watched Derek like he was something new and fascinating, and Derek let him.

“I broke into my ex girlfriend’s house to get a necklace back that used to belong to my sister. I was drunk, and it was stupid... but I didn’t have anyone to stop me. That’s why I’m here. So yeah...I get it; you’re fifteen, nobody understands you and your dad works too much to spend time with you. It sucks, right?”

“I... I don’t like to hang out with Scott sometimes... because he still has his mom.” Stiles confessed softly, looking at his feet. He scuffed them against the floor of the dugout, shrugging limply. “Yeah, his dad left, but it’s not the same--his dad was shitty. Mom... we didn’t know until it was too late. I want her back a-and Scott doesn’t want his dad back like I want my mom, y’know? Does that make me a bad person?”

God, Derek was not the person to go to about this kind of stuff. He was barely scraping by in life as a decent human being, he didn’t need some teenager coming to him for advice. He didn’t want to ruin Stiles like he’d ruined so many other things.

Rubbing his palms over his thighs, Derek shrugged. “It’s okay to be angry... but you can’t blame others or hate them for things they can’t control.”

Stiles leapt to his feet, hands flying out dramatically. “Well it’s not like I can just _wish_ away the anger, can I?!”

“No, you can’t,” Derek agreed, standing and reaching out to clasp Stiles’ shoulder. “I tried, I know. It doesn’t work...”

A scowl made it’s way onto Stiles’ lips as he looked up at Derek. “So what should I do?”

“Use the anger. Don’t let it use you.”

“Huh?”

Derek impulsively reached for Stiles’ arm, grabbing his wrist and holding it up. “ _Use_ it. Baseball gets frustrating, right?” Stiles nodded. “And you’re always on the bench for lacrosse?” Another nod.

“So let’s try something else.”

“Like what?”

Smiling, Derek curled Stiles’ hand into a fist. “Fighting.”

\---

Stiles didn’t learn to fight right away. They spent half of their time together learning the basics, but going fast enough that Stiles didn’t get frustrated if he was stuck on a particular move or position. It made Derek feel better knowing that Stiles would be able to hold his own in a fight, but it also made him feel ten times worse each time his eyes lingered on the movements of Stiles’ body.

Each lesson showed improvement, making Stiles’ clumsiness gradually transform into a sort of accidental grace. Where he used to trip over himself in his haste, Stiles learned to balance himself and control his movements enough to prevent most disasters.

The only problem with the lessons was Derek. Derek and his hyper-awareness of Stiles’ every touch and breath, of the purse of his lips and the flush in his cheeks from exertion or excitement. The way Stiles’ breath would quicken when Derek came close was like it’s own form of torture, amplified only in those scant moments when Stiles might fumble or stutter if Derek’s fingers lingered on his arms or shoulders for far too long.

Derek wasn’t an idiot, and he wasn’t oblivious. Stiles was a teenage boy just discovering his sexuality, and Derek happened to be the prime target. If Derek were a better man, he might have been able to push it out of his mind and continue on with his life.

Too bad Derek had never seen himself as a good man.

\---

Things went south on a Friday afternoon at the stoplight between Alder Road and Cherry Lane. Stiles was in the passenger seat, fiddling with the radio, playing with his window, checking his phone over and over, and generally being a giant ball of tension that had Derek ready to kick him out of the car entirely, if only for a moment of peace.

“Stop twitching,” he barked, taking his eyes off of the light long enough to give Stiles a gentle punch in the arm. Stiles jerked so hard he practically hopped out of his seat, head whipping around to gape at Derek.

After a couple more seconds of awkward staring, Derek frowned. “What?”

“Could you teach me to kiss?” Stiles blurted in one huge breath, thumb tapping against his knee in a mad staccato. Derek nearly choked on air, hands twitching on the steering wheel with the urge to pull off to the side of the road so he could just stare at Stiles in disbelief. It didn’t help that Stiles asking that single question had his heartbeat picking up with excitement, wanting to touch and taste every bit of Stiles he could get.

Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Stiles shrugged and chewed nervously at the corner of his thumbnail. “Come on. You’re like… a Greek god or something. I bet you totally have a master’s in make-out 101.”

Derek sighed, jaw clenching as he said tightly, “somehow I get the feeling there’s more to it than just a lesson.”

Stiles made a tiny noise in the back of his throat, swallowing reflexively. He took a deep breath, letting it out through his nose and then jutted his chin out defiantly. “So what if there is?”

It was one thing to imagine this scenario, but it was an entirely different thing to experience it. Derek had to focus on driving for a long while before he could come up with any sort of response. There was practically no way of letting Stiles down gently without getting a retaliation of hurt and anger thrown back in his face.

“Stiles, you’re--”

“If you use my age against me, I'll hate you forever,” Stiles interrupted venomously, “If anything, my dad being the sheriff is a good thing because he'd never think you were stupid enough to do anything with me.”

"I'm not!" Derek barked, hands flexing on the steering wheel as he changed lanes.

"Then why do you look at me like that? It isn't fair!" Stiles cried, throwing his hands out in desperate confusion. There was nothing Derek could honestly say to that without hurting Stiles or making himself out to be a creep. He kept quiet instead, pulling into the nearest parking lot and parking the car between a truck and a minivan near the back so that they had some semblance of privacy.

Turning to Stiles, Derek dragged in a deep breath and let it out through his nose. “No matter how I look at you, I’m not going to kiss you. I’m not going to do anything with you that would get me arrested.”

Stiles looked taken aback, but he frowned quickly. “You won’t kiss me, but you’d break into someone’s house,” he said flatly.

“Breaking into someone’s house isn’t considered statutory rape!” Derek exploded, chest tight.

“We don’t have to have sex or anything. We could just kiss! I’m even okay with cuddling! I just want you, is that so hard to understand?” Stiles cried, wringing his hands together. “You’ve said before that I’m more mature than anyone else my age, so why can’t I be mature about this?”

“You’re fifteen, Stiles,” Derek clenched his teeth, lips thinned into a tight line, “you really think you’re going to be okay with ‘just cuddling’? You’re practically a child with more hormones than you know what to do with.”

“I’m going to be sixteen next month!” Stiles protested with wide eyes, “that’s only two years until I’m legal!”

“You think what, I’d wait for you?” Derek sneered the words out before he could really consider what he was saying, and began to regret it almost immediately.

Stiles recoiled as sharply as if he’d been slapped, face paling and throat bobbing like he was struggling to swallow down more words. Derek didn’t get to see any more of a reaction than that, because Stiles quickly turned to look out the window, hands curled into fists on his jeans and knuckles white.

“Take me home.”

Derek started the car, pulling out of the parking lot and heading back to Stiles’ house. He didn’t know what else to do. This was how things were supposed to go--he turned Stiles down and Stiles would be better because of it in the long run. He wouldn’t have some scarred past and he could find someone who was worthy of his jokes and smiles and everything Derek didn’t deserve.

When he pulled into the Stilinski driveway, Stiles practically threw his seatbelt off, fumbling to get his baseball glove from the back seat without touching Derek, and then threw the door open. Derek acted without thinking, hand darting out to grab Stiles’ wrist. Stiles hesitated, glancing back at him with a distrustful stare. Derek couldn’t stand being the cause of that look.

“For what it’s worth, I _would_ wait...but you deserve better than me. You deserve _so much_ better. “

Stiles pulled his hand away, uttering, “I don’t see how much better I would get than you. At least. I thought so. Now I don’t know. I think you’re just doing it for the hours on a piece of paper.”

Derek watched as Stiles shut the door to the camaro and headed into his house without a single glance back. It shouldn’t have hurt the way it did--Derek knew for a fact that Stiles was manipulating him. It wouldn’t have been the first time; he had a knack for twisting someone’s guilt around to get what he wanted. No matter how badly Derek knew he was being played into, he couldn’t help but worry that some of Stiles’ words held truth. It was enough to haunt him for the rest of the day.

\---

The next week, Stiles was almost entirely back to normal, save for his new habit of trying to touch Derek at any given opportunity. It was like a magnetic force dragging them together, making Stiles’ fingers linger on Derek’s hand and his body to sway into Derek’s space. No matter how hard he tried to be unaffected by each electrifying second, it was torture.

Moments that weren’t torture were the mundane--like sitting in Stiles’ living room and playing video games--were the ones Derek loved the most. He eventually turned in his controller in defeat and sat back to watch Stiles play on his own after a few too many losses. Between one boss battle and a cut scene, he ended up falling asleep with his limbs sprawled all over the loveseat. He’d been up all night doing paperwork to enroll back in his classes in the fall because he’d forgotten about the upcoming deadline until the last minute. Now he was paying for it by dozing off in the middle of the afternoon.

He woke up to the gentle sensation of fingertips brushing his cheek, stroking against the grain of his stubble and then down his chest and stomach. That same hand, familiar and warm in some way Derek’s sleep-muddled brain couldn’t remember, traced along the band of his jeans before coming back up to rest in the middle of his chest. It was all so intimate and natural that when soft lips pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth, Derek instinctively turned to capture them into a deep and lingering return kiss.

Stiles’ gasp woke him like a splash of water to the face. He jerked away, pushing at Stiles’ shoulder until Stiles fell back on his ass, face red and eyes wide.

“What were you doing?” Derek rasped, frustration growing at the guilty look on Stiles’ face.

“Dude, I’m sorry. I mean, no, not really. I’m not sorry, I really wanted to know what it felt like and this was clearly just for research purposes and--”

Waving a hand to silence Stiles’ apologies, Derek struggled to sit up. He cringed, ignoring the way his half-hard dick shifted uncomfortably in his jeans, and scrubbed at his face. “I thought we talked about this,” he muttered tiredly.

Stiles’ breath hitched as he dropped his eyes and rubbed sheepishly at the side of his neck. “You’re the only person who treats me like a human being. Can you blame me?”

“It’s not you that’s going to get blamed,” Derek pointed out, sitting up properly on the couch.

Stiles made a pained noise in the back of his throat, pushing himself to his feet and gesturing at the space between them. “You _want_ this. I know you want this. I don’t see--can’t you just kiss me? Please? Come on, dude. I’m not asking for sex--”

“Stiles!”

Stiles cringed and muttered an apology under his breath. His shoulders were hunched, face pinched into an expression of mortification. “I’ll stop. I’m sorry… I just..” Stiles let out a soft sigh, sounding so painfully defeated that it made Derek’s chest ache just to hear it.

“Come here,” Derek muttered, gesturing for Stiles to bring himself closer.

Stiles looked up and Derek repeated the motion, hoping he wouldn’t regret doing this. Stiles shuffled closer, breath hitching and lips splitting into a delighted grin when Derek settled a hand on the back of his neck. Instead of kissing his mouth, however, Derek pulled Stiles down far enough that he could kiss him right in the middle of the forehead.

When he pulled away, Derek was met with a disgruntled frown from Stiles.

“That’s it?”

“You said you wanted a kiss. You didn’t specify what kind.” Derek pointed out smugly.

“You’re a dick.”

“Mmmhmm,” Derek’s thumb stroked gently against the side of Stiles’ neck, just long enough that he would be able to remember the softness of his skin, but not too much that he’d give Stiles the wrong impression.

Stiles continued to look extremely put-out--much like a child being told he couldn’t celebrate his own birthday--and Derek rolled his eyes before leaning in to kiss him on the cheek.

Which is when Stiles grabbed Derek by the shirt and planted one right on his mouth.

Derek wrenched back and Stiles ducked in for another kiss, teeth catching Derek’s bottom lip in his haste. Derek froze, stomach flipping and his heart going a mile a minute as Stiles’ palms, clammy and soft, cupped at his face and coaxed him into a proper kiss. He didn’t stop there, diving back again and again like inexperienced high schooler would--no tongue, no deepness. They were chaste, hurried pecks like he was afraid Derek would push him away at any second-- like he had to get as many as he could before he lost his chance.

In that moment, with his entire family dead and his days ending with coming home to an empty apartment, Derek’s already thin self-control snapped. 

“Fuck it,” he hissed, wrapping a hand around Stiles’ back and dragging him in close. His other hand cradled Stiles’ jaw, thumb rubbing at that plump bottom lip to coax it open, to tease his mouth into letting Derek’s tongue slide in and taste him.

Stiles gasped and twisted in Derek’s arms, wriggling enough that he was able to clamber up into Derek’s lap--all awkward limbs and eager willingness that made Derek’s head spin with want. 

It wasn’t until Stiles started to rock his hips in slow, grinding half-thrusts that Derek’s brain finally came back online. He dropped a hand down to Stiles’ hip, holding it in place and pulling back from one of their many kisses to gasp out, “I can’t--stop. Fuck, Stiles. You know I can’t.”

Stiles scowled, mouth swollen red and cheeks ruddy. “Then why did you start? Why did you let me?”

“Why do you keep pushing it?” Derek snapped, hands tight on Stiles’ hips like he wanted to pull him in and shove him away at the same time. “Just--I said no...and that means _no_. Hasn’t your school taught you anything about consent?”

“Oh, so now I’m _raping_ you?” Stiles sneered, scrambling out of Derek’s lap and adjusting himself in his jeans, still looking like something out of a porn video. Derek curled his hands into fists, steadying his breathing and trying not to give in to the hurt look on Stiles’ face.

“No, but it doesn’t matter if I want it or not. I said no. Why can’t you respect that?”

“I…” Stiles trailed off, looking increasingly distressed. His throat bobbed with an unsteady swallow, kiss-red lips pursing as he looked down at his hands, rubbing them together anxiously. “I’m sorry.”

Without another word, he turned on his heel and headed upstairs to his room. Derek waited until the door shut to let out a curse, scrubbing at his face. He couldn’t keep this up much longer, even if his required service hours would be up soon. Stiles was like some kind of black hole, sucking everything in by sheer will alone.

Two weeks suddenly seemed like an eternity away.

\---

Stiles remained amazingly distant until their next meeting, limiting his texts and barely giving Derek an answer when asked if he wanted to go to the local aquarium before they shut down for the fall. When Derek picked him up that afternoon, he was sitting on the front steps of his house, foot bouncing anxiously. Dread settled in Derek’s gut, not wanting to have to turn Stiles down a second time--because he was pretty sure he didn’t have the willpower to follow through--when Stiles hopped up with a smile and strode over to clamber into the car.

“What?” Stiles asked when Derek continued to stare at him, “I can’t be excited to touch some fish? Let’s go, Jeeves.”

Derek rolled his eyes and pulled out of the driveway.

Stiles couldn’t sit still for the entire trip, hands migrating to the radio, back to his lap, fiddling with the window, and even picking at some dust on the dashboard before Derek finally grabbed his hand and gave it a warning squeeze. Stiles was more controlled after that, though he still continued to smile for no reason up until they pulled into the aquarium parking lot.

He was unbuckling his seatbelt when Stiles jerked and threw a hand out. “Wait!”

Derek paused, tilting his head to the side and bobbing his eyebrows in a silent way of telling Stiles to ‘get on with it’.

“I have to give you something, first,” Stiles breathed, wiggling around in his seat so he could dig his hand into the front pocket of his jeans. There was a clinking noise, and then Stiles was pulling out a necklace. A familiar necklace, with a triskele like the one on Derek’s back with a gemstone in the middle for the month of August.

Laura’s necklace.

Horrified, Derek watched the necklace swing in Stiles’ fist like a pendulum. His gut burned with a mixture of elation and mortification, anger and fear. All of them made his stomach roll with nausea the second Derek realized that Stiles must have broken into Kate’s apartment to get it.

Stiles could have gotten arrested--could have gotten _Derek_ arrested--all for a stupid necklace that meant more to Derek than it should have. All he could think of was what might have happened if Kate had been home; if she’d shot him for intruding or what could have happened if the authorities had gotten involved and made the connection between Stiles, the necklace, and Derek.

“Are you seriously that stupid!?” Derek roared, “What kind of idiot breaks into someone’s house for a stupid friggin’ necklace? You could have gotten hurt! Are you that much of a child? Did you even _think_?”

Stiles’ elated expression dropped off of his face in a heartbeat, replaced with a pale, pained look like his heart had been ripped out of his chest entirely. His eyes started to well up with tears, chin wobbling before he sucked in a sharp breath and hissed, “my best friend is dating her niece, you asshole!” Stiles’ voice grew, hurt taking over his shock, “I just asked her to get it for me when she was over there!” The last word was punctuated by Stiles flinging the necklace into Derek’s face. The pendant hit the bridge of his nose, chain smacking his lips and making Derek flinch reflexively as Stiles shoved his way out of the car and slammed the door behind himself.

If possible, Derek felt like the worst man on the face of the planet. He had to take a second to stew in his own self-loathing and guilt, hands flexing on the steering wheel like it could give him answers. Nearly ten minutes passed before he managed to look down at the necklace in his lap, picking it up and stroking a thumb over the chain slowly. He tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket, getting out of the car and heading into the aquarium.

Derek found Stiles at the stingray tank, half hunched over the glass with one hand in the water and a pensive, frustrated look on his face. Derek came up next to him, watching Stiles’ index finger trail over the back of one of the rays as it ghosted by. He cleared his throat, but Stiles didn’t move an inch.

“I’m sorry.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Stiles muttered, poking at a clam and watching the shell snap shut in surprise.

Derek took a deep breath. “Look, I’m trying to apologize here.”

“Yeah? Not accepted.”

“Stiles...”

“I’m just a stupid kid anyway, right? Too much of an idiot to know what’s good for me? Yeah, I got the memo, asshole.” Flicking water from his hand, Stiles finally lifted his head to glower at Derek. His eyes were rimmed red, mouth curled into a scowl.

Trying not to mimic the expression on Stiles’ face, Derek sat down on the bench next to him. Stiles waited for Derek to talk and when the words weren’t immediate, he huffed and went back to reaching into the tank to pet one of the stingrays.

Derek closed his eyes, rubbing his palms together.“I yelled because I was scared.”

“Huh?”

“If they tied this back to you--back to me... they’d put me in jail and I’d probably never see you again.”

“I’m pretty sure we won’t see each other again after next week.” Stiles pointed out dryly, shifting into a more comfortable position and swishing his hand around in the water.

“I don’t want that.” Derek admitted, voice hoarse.

Stiles fell silent, throat clicking as he swallowed. He glanced up at Derek, watching him for a long moment and then looked back into the tank. His hands rubbed over the back of a floating stingray. “Oh,” he muttered thoughtfully, lips curling into a tiny smile.

\---

Derek broke on the last week. He didn’t just break, he shattered into a thousand Stiles-shaped pieces that could never be put back together in the same way.

Everything was going fine, the both of them keeping a respectable distance, neither one speaking of the relationship they wanted but couldn’t have. It was entirely safe--Derek keeping two feet ahead of Stiles on their hike up the nature trail, and then Stiles had to laugh. He had to laugh at some stupid joke Derek didn’t even mean to make, had to throw his head back and cackle like he actually thought Derek was funny and clever. He had to make Derek want him--want him bad enough that Derek was closing the distance between them while Stiles was still giggling for breath. Those chuckles turned into gasps the second Derek had him pressed against the nearest tree and their lips smashed together.

Stiles was so full of energy, brimming with eager _want_ that it was utterly intoxicating. Derek felt possessed, hands pawing to touch and feel any and every part he could of Stiles, mouth biting kisses that stifled each little moan and gasp he made. Stiles’ head hit the trunk of the tree with a thud when he threw it back, exposing his throat for Derek to nip and suck at like a man starved. “Jesus,” he gasped, fingers digging into Derek’s hair, “don’t stop--don’t--” Stiles squirmed, rutting up against Derek’s body and whimpering.

Palms rubbing up Stiles’ back and clutching at his waist and shoulders, Derek did everything in his power to tear out the tiny noises of pleasure from Stiles’ throat, kissing his way back up to that panting mouth. He could tell just from the way Stiles was practically jackrabbiting against his leg that he was seconds away from making a mess in his pants. Derek did nothing to stop him, addicted to the taste and feel of Stiles in his arms.

“Sh-shit,” Stiles choked, jerking against Derek’s body as he came with a low groan and shudder. Derek pet his hand down Stiles’ side, whispering nonsense into his ear as he came down from his high. Stiles clutched to him, struggling to get his breath back, face red and neck mottled with bruises from Derek’s lips and teeth.

He looked so utterly wrecked, pupils dilated and mouth swollen. Derek would have felt regret, but then Stiles’ lips spread out into a brilliant grin. “That was _awesome_ ,” he breathed.

“Your dad is going to kill me,” Derek whispered in horrified realization. Stiles frowned for a second before the meaning of Derek’s words hit him, and his smile was back and twice as bright.

Derek kissed him again, because what they had now had to be enough to make up for anything they’d face in the future.

**Author's Note:**

> yayayy, another commission down! *pops confetti* Thanks to everyone who chipped in to get this written! <3 Sorry for any errors. I wrote this while I was out sick with bronchitis. :c


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